


Unbuttoning

by Rochelle_Rochelle



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Joanlock - Freeform, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Rochelle/pseuds/Rochelle_Rochelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This starts off slow. Give it a chance. There's not a lot of depth but there are buttons. Sexual content. Joanlock. My alternate title: Undressing Sherlock Holmes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her basement office proved a sanctuary for both of them. Work that oft times became too spread out and unwieldy was condensed and brought down here for more focused scrutinizing. This tactic proved successful with their current case and after three days of investigation, the killer was behind bars leaving only the paperwork to be tidied. 

In shirt sleeves and vest, Sherlock sat on her couch; Watson beside him. Photos and documents needed to be organized and sorted into the proper folders. It was tedious work but necessary. 

Sherlock had been aware of her watching him, surreptitiously, of course, for days now. From under long lashes, her eyes observed, but she said nothing. Sherlock didn't ask; she'd speak in her own time. He could tell whatever it was was something of a personal nature by the way she held herself around him - much more reserved than usual: crossed legs, body tilted away from him, arms crossed. She was holding something back; afraid he would see before she was ready to show. He waited. The look he caught in her eye at one point confused him; what he thought he saw couldn't be.

The creaking of the old building above them and the occasional rattle from a pipe punctured the silence that hung heavily between them. Joan sighed and tried to gauge how receptive he was at the moment. His words to her from few months back had hounded at her. This was not a casual request she had - this would be life changing. Joan knew what she wanted. Her eyes slid sideways towards him once more and were surprised to meet his, also veiled beneath lashes. The time had come; she needed to talk to him - she could wait no longer. 

Putting the file in her hand down between them, Joan summoned the courage to ask him. With a deep breath she turned to face him directly and spoke, “Would you be willing to change our relationship?”

His eyes were wide and blank, unsure what she was asking, fear began rising from deep within him, fear that she was preparing to once more leave him. 

Joan broke away from his stare, looking straight ahead now as she talked. “I don’t want to change who we are or how we relate to one another … I just think a little more freedom between us would be beneficial to us both.”

She glanced up at him to gauge his reaction. He sat perfectly still, eyes boring into her, attempting to decipher what it was she needed or wanted from him. 

Joan could feel the heat of embarrassment spread across her face, her hands fidgeted with her skirt, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes wishing she could disappear rather than face rejection, or worse indifference. 

"You know what .... Nevermind. I’m sorry I brought this up. We’re fine just the way we are."

The trance he’d been under broke suddenly and he spoke, “No, no, no, I’d be very much amenable to a change in our dynamics. What do you mean by freedom?” Watching her body language, cross referencing it with what he had observed from her in the past few days, he thought he understood but did not want to jump to wrong conclusions. 

Joan stared deep into his eyes as her hand reached across the space between them and lay gently on his. "I've been thinking about what you said, about not being satisfied with the traditional romantic ideal, how that might not be what works best for me. And I thought you ... We could ..." She looked down unsure how to continue. Her fingertips moved slightly across the top oh his hand while her thumb made its way into his loosely closed fist.

Sherlock blinked and swallowed. His hand tightened around her thumb sending an unexpected physical reaction through her. Slowly his hand opened and turned. Palm to palm their fingers caressed, traced, explored the others hand with feather light touches. In all their time together they'd never touched in this manner, and just this simple action was exhilarating. 

Eyes still locked onto each other, they sat, breathing elevated, waiting. The slight narrowing of her smoldering gaze proved to be the catalyst he needed. Holding her wrist, Sherlock moved. His face inched toward hers. His nose rubbed gently against hers. She moved towards him and he once more hesitantly moved, letting his lips brush hers. He placed a small respectful kiss on her lips; his forehead bent to hers, nose to nose, they sat breathing in the moment.

Trepidation, excitement, desire all rushed through her. Joan had expected dialogue and analysis, not this. Her self doubts, quelled by his reaction, allowed her hand to move up and stroke his face with fingertips. The look that swept across his face at the mere touch of her hand spurred her forward. As gentle as he had been with his first kiss, her lips met his with passionate roughness. Sherlock's response was eager and immediate, grabbing at her head and bringing her as close to him as he could. The need for air finally pushed them apart.

A moment of quiet understanding passed between them. Sherlock brought a finger to her lips, lightly dragging it across. "You're in charge," he whispered. He saw the spark in her eye and continued. "Whatever you want, ...... wherever you want, ..... whenever you want ..." He traced a finger from her lips down to her neck and up again to where her lips rewarded it by parting and bestowing a kiss.

Joan knew what she wanted. The thought of just one small fantasy being within her grasp sent a thrill through her. "You won't laugh at me?" He shook his head no. 

She moved her lips to his ear and whispered, "I want to undress you... " her words were just a breath at his ear, her hands moved to his thigh "and have you not return any touch until I let you" Joan pulled away and with bent head awaited his response. 

The look he'd caught from her earlier this week had been correctly interpreted - she had been mentally undressing him. He teased her just a little, "No handcuffs or bindings?"

"Just your restraint. Perhaps we can work our way up to whips and cuffs ..." Her comment was meant as humor but Sherlock saw the gleam in her eyes. He relished seeing the side of Watson that long lay dormant begin to show itself. Excitement lit his eyes at the prospect of seeing her unleashed and in turn he sparked a fire within her.

Sherlock carefully pushed the coffee table piled with files away and stood in front of her. Joan stared up at him not sure whether her heart thumped in fear or expectation. She took him by the wrist and pulled him slowly down until he was on his knees before her. Her hands made their way down to his bottom vest button. She felt him jump slightly at the touch and then relax. 

Joan stopped, smoothing her hand over the vest material, "I'm not going to hurt you ..."

"I know," he nodded and maintained eye contact with her as she unbuttoned each button. She peeled the vest back from him, leaning in and kissing his neck as the vest slid down his arms.

Sherlock twitched and maneuvered himself to better allow her to get close. His cheek lay on her hair, the muted strains of her perfume surrounded him while her lips prompted him to move, to grab hold - but he refrained. 

Joan's hands reached for his top collar button. Silly though it was she'd dreamed of this, fantasized about unbuttoning, opening and pulling away at the material, leaving him bare before her. Deftly, she undid each button with meticulous care, welcoming each new patch of hairy exposed skin with open mouthed kisses.

Sherlock had to close his eyes to limit the overload of sensory input. His chest puffed and strained forward trying to capture each touch, each kiss and breath she was bestowing on him. His impulse was to caress her, entangle his fingers in her hair but she asked him not to and he would not, until she gave him permission or he lost control.

Joan reveled in the feel of him on her face and lips; feeling him strain towards her in desire added to her pleasure. She guided him to stand so that her head was level with his abs as she undid the last visible shirt button. Joan took the shirt material in her hands and as she stood pulled it up and out from its tucked position in his trousers. His breathing and hers elevated as she paused and grabbed his hands undoing the cuff buttons on each wrist. 

"Take your blouse off..." the request was forcefully breathed into her hair. She looked up at him surprised, not sure whether to acquiesce. His hoarse whisper continued, "Please. I ... I won't touch you ... Not until you let me ... I promise ..."

Joan took a step back and grabbing at the hem of the material pulled it and the camisole she was wearing off in one motion. She stood naked from the waist up before him and it had a visible effect on him. Stepping closer to him once more, she took the open shirt into her hands and slowly pushed it back over his shoulders and down his arms while at the same time pressing her exposed upper body onto his.

The feel of her breasts, her soft bare skin on his chest, pushed a guttural groan of pleasure passed his lips. Joan wriggled closer as she pulled the sleeves completely off his arms, enjoying the sensation of his reaction.

His arms ached with the need to hold her, "Please, may I ... Touch you ...?" The warmth of his words caressed her neck as he dragged his lips downward. 

Joan's hand wrapped itself round the back of his head and pressed him hard onto her. "No hands, not yet." She gasped in pleasure as his mouth reached her nipple and gave her a tender bite, pulling slightly as he took his head away only to come back open-mouthed and encircle it once more, his tongue swirling at the hardening nub. 

"Oh god," her voice was low with sensual pleasure. "That ... That you can keep doing ..." Her hand wove itself into his hair. Sherlock smiled into her skin and slid his lips across to her other breast. Joan moaned. Her palms slid slowly downward across his back and to his sides. She reached his belt and allowed one hand to slip past that boundary; her fingers dipped down to his hip bone, then a little further. Sherlock stopped his ministrations as Joan, finding what she sought, stroked and firmly fondled. His breath became hot and ragged on her breast as he succumbed to the waves of utter pleasure she was providing him. She slowly dragged her fingers upwards towards his belt buckle. 

His breath caught as she undid his belt and eased his pants down past his hips, freeing him. She reached forward and felt him hard against her body. She was as ready for him as he was for her. Joan looked into his eyes lidded with desire. "Now...." she said and the word hung between them for a nanosecond before he rushed at her, pulling her down on to the couch and grabbing at her hips, pushing her skirt up.

"Watson, you are an evil, evil woman," he taunted her with a smile on his lips. She giggled into his shoulder. One hand pulled at her undergarments, while the other made its way up her thigh, found her center and with firm fingers reciprocated the pleasure she had provided him. 

The moment came when she needed more, needed him fully and pushed at him gently until he was on his back. She straddled him, let him enter her and held him there for a moment lost in the feeling, the promise of imminent satisfaction. She moved and clenched and made him groan. His hands held her bottom as they fell into an ever increasing rhythm punctuated by moans and whispers. 

The sound of his phone ringing joined them. 

Sherlock looked across to the table where his phone chimed and vibrated. Joan bent forward over his face, "Don't you dare!" Her tone, the way she threatened and ordered him with those three words just about pushed him over the edge. He moved and brought them both onto the floor with him on top. The phone kept ringing but they were oblivious, swept away in the undulating pulsations and sudden release into each other that finally left them clinging to each other. Her basement office proved a sanctuary for them both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felt it needed more.

He listened to her heart, his ear pressed to her breast. Her hands held him tight to her, and with each exhalation of his warm breath upon her skin, she gently squeezed him.

"Mmm," the only sound he could produce, vibrated against her skin. She stroked the back of his head and offered her own very satisfied sigh. Moving his head away from her and leaving a trail of kisses across her breast as he did, he attempted to get up.

Her legs tightened around him. "Nooo," she pleaded. The look on her face touched a spot within him, a spot that had sat in the dark and cold for a long time. Emotion threatened to overcome him. Sherlock closed his eyes and gratefully placed his body on hers once more, his mouth at her ear. "The sofa would be more comfortable for you..."

Joan moved her head and found his mouth, kissing him with passion that threatened to set them off again. "Stay right here."

His eyes smiled at her. He placed his head once more upon her and lay content. 

Joan's arms wound their way around his torso as she murmured a whisper of happiness into his hair. Their bodies settled into each other.

The explosive wrap of knuckles on the basement door shattered the moment and wrenched them apart. Sherlock sprang up to a half sitting position and turned to the door. The silhouette of a man was visible through the frosted glass.

"Detective Bell," he mouthed at her.

A hissed and whispered conversation followed as they frantically attempted to get clothed.

"Is the door locked?"  
"I didn't. Did you?  
"Shit. No."  
"I can't find my panties."  
"Forget them, just pull down your skirt."

A loud knock again made them jump. "Joan? Sherlock? You in there?" 

"Just a minute." She answered, hoping to buy time.

"You know, we are adults ..." Sherlock whispered at her. "We have no reason to hide our actions..."

"Shut up and pull your pants up." This was not the time for discussion. 

Sherlock pulled his pants up and handed Joan her blouse and cami. She exchanged them for his shirt.

He buttoned as fast as he could while she tucked his shirt into his trousers. 

"Okay." The top collar button was in place. Joan walked towards the door. 

She composed herself with a deep breath and opened the door. "Hey, Marcus. Come in."

A wary detective walked in, "Everything okay?" 

"Of course," Sherlock answered, rocking nervously, heel to toe, "Why wouldn't it be?" He fidgeted with his cuff buttons realizing they were unbuttoned.

"I tried calling you but you didn't answer so ..."

"Oh, we uhm ... muted the phones." Joan piped up. "So, what's going on?" She attempted to change the subject. 

"We need the exhibit paperwork from the case we just closed ..."

Sherlock quickly went over to the coffee table covered in files on top of which, much to Joan's dismay, sat her black panties. With his back to Marcus, he swiftly picked up a file with one hand and her panties in the other. Bunching them quickly in his hand, he placed them in his pocket and turned to give Bell the file. "I believe these are the documents you need." Sherlock stared Marcus down, daring him to make a comment. 

The detective gave each of them a good long look. He swallowed a smile. "Yup. This is it." He moved towards the door. "Thanks. I'll leave you two to ... uhm, carry on." He gave them a huge smile and left.


End file.
